Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) (21 page)

“Arms.”

“Huh?”

“Arms,” he says again smiling while I stand there fighting the urge to pounce on him. He looks good enough to eat. His hair’s tussled from sleep, and he’s barefoot and wearing a pair of low-slung jeans, his boxers peeping out just above the waistband. His chest still bears the yellowing bruises from the crash, but they don’t detract from the tanned smooth skin stretched over the peaks and dips of his abs. I could stand here and stare at his torso all day without tiring.

“Lift your arms, babe!”

“Oh, right…yeah. Sorry.”

He pulls the t-shirt over my head and then looks down at my jeans. They look like a poorly executed Jackson Pollock imitation; dirty, soggy, dark splat marks cover a good proportion of blue.

“Take them off; I’ll put them in the wash.”

I hesitate for a second but figure that if he washes my clothes it will give me at least an hour to try and reason with him before he can throw me out. I mean, heck, he wouldn't toss me outside without any clothes…
hopefully.

“Okay,” I tell him, peeling the damp material down my legs. I look up and catch his eyes watching me. I figure now’s as good a time as any to talk.

“Ethan, I wanted to—”

“Not now.” He holds his palms up and cuts me off immediately, obviously knowing where I was intending to take the conversation.

“Fine, here.”

I let the denim drop to my feet, and then kick my jeans up at him. He catches them with a crooked grin before disappearing out of the room again.

I walk around his bedroom looking at the knickknacks spread out over his dresser. I take a guitar pick and move it between my fingers before setting it back down. I pick up a ratty old notebook and flip to where the page marker is. It’s music. Like real notes, not just letters and words. I smile, a weird sense of pride swelling in my heart. Then I notice the title:
Rescued By a Princess
, and I can't help but wonder if he’s referring to me.

I look down at myself, and decide that his t-shirt is just about long enough to get away with wearing downstairs since it falls marginally below my ass; arguably I’m covered up.

“You okay in there?” I shout as I make my way to the laundry room.

“Stupid…shitty...annoying door. Argh!”

I lean on the doorframe and smile as I watch Ethan pressing every available button while simultaneously yanking on the machine door with no avail. Our clothes are piled at his feet, and I let out a small giggle as he kicks the side of the washer then hops and grabs at his toes. He lets out a string of expletives that run from one to the next in one long cuss.

“Shitfuckerassholepissingcocksuckingdouchenozzle!”

I throw my head back and release a completely undignified snort as he whirls around and narrows his gaze.

“I’m glad my pain amuses you.”

I want to try to smooth my features, but holding in my amusement is harder than I thought. I’m straining the muscles in my face with the effort to get my words out without collapsing into hysterics.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Trying to get this damn machine to open so I can wash our stinking wet clothes!”

“Oh.” A small giggle escapes me and his gaze narrows further. I scoot past him and press the power switch illuminating all the buttons and then press ‘Door’. It pops open, and I turn and smile.

“Always helps if you have the thing turned on first.”

“Pfft, whatever. This is a chick’s job anyway.”

The amusement I was feeling is instantly replaced with a sudden urge to junk-punch him.

“Aw, poor Ethan…in a mood because he couldn’t figure out the washer?” I mock in my sweetest baby voice.

I don’t get to enjoy the expression he pulls because I’m instantly hit in the face with a pile of dirty socks and boxers.

“Ew…that’s gross; you’re such a moron! You’d better run.”

He laughs until he registers that I’m not joking. His hands fly up to his chest, palms facing up as he takes a step backward.

“It was a joke…Blair, don’t you dare!” His voice has lowered to a warning as he watches the box of soap powder I’m poised to throw.

“What was that? Did you just dare me?”

“Okay, okay…I’m sorry, put the box down. I shouldn’t have thrown my dirty laundry at you. Tossing a box of suds at me is only gonna…”

I smile triumphantly as he’s covered with a heavy dousing of powder before he finishes his sentence. He coughs and shakes his head, causing a flurry of tiny white flakes to tumble from his hair and shoulders like a little snowstorm.

“Mature!” he spits out.

“Hey, you started it, mister.”

He rubs his hand over himself, trying to dust down, and I grin.

“Truce?”

“Not even close. I’ll get you back, just wait.”

I would laugh but his expression is slightly menacing, and now I’m a little worried.

I help him load the washer and we return to fix the mess in the family room. I can feel his eyes burning into the back of me as I’m on all fours, rubbing the coffee stain off the sofa cushion and carpet. It’s silent except for the scratching noise the sponge makes against the chocolate-brown fabric. I can feel the atmosphere transforming around me and the room suddenly feels much colder; there’s a sense of an impending confrontation hanging thickly in the air. I give up on the scrubbing and fall to my ass on the carpet, leaning against the sofa as I peel off the rubber gloves I’m wearing. I gather the bottles of stain remover and fabric deodorizer into a neat pile at my side and look up to see him watching me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Liar!”

He smirks and sits down next to me.

“It freaks me out how well you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Sense when I’m lying.”

“Yeah…you’d think you’d stop doing it, knowing that I can tell a mile off.”

He nods his head in contemplation, and his face is somber again.

“I remember.”

I look at him blankly, waiting for him to continue.

“Mom, telling me that I’m not hers. I remember it. That’s what I was dreaming about before I knocked your drink.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say to him. I’m relieved as hell that he can recall it, but sad too.

“I told you at the beach?”

“Yeah, you did. We were supposed to be at the movies; you didn’t show.”

“I called you and you came out, right? Then we drove to the beach, and I told you why I was late.”

I nod my head in confirmation and he exhales loudly.

“I know I shouldn’t be mad at you but I am. I can’t help it. I don’t understand why you would pretend to me like that never happened, even if it was my mom’s idea.”

I can feel my pulse rise and my palms begin to sweat. I hate how quickly the sadness has crept into his eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have agreed to keep it quiet, but what was I supposed to do? You didn’t remember me. You’d just been through the crash; you’re dealing with your dad. I couldn’t exactly walk into your room and be all, ‘Hey I’m Blair, your girlfriend that you don’t remember and this over here is your fake mom who’s been lying to you for the last eighteen years, just so you know!’”

Her gasp startles Ethan and me as we turn to see Moira standing, case in hand, behind us.

Shit!

“YOU’RE BACK EARLIER than I expected.”

“You don’t say! I’m going to go put this case away. Why don’t you two go and get dressed?” With that Mom turns and exits the room.

“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe she just heard all of that, and that she saw me wearing just your t-shirt!” Blair whisper-shouts, her face twisted with embarrassment. “She’s going to think we were having sex!”

“Relax, she doesn’t care. Come upstairs, I’ll grab you some sweats.”

I help her up, and she pulls at the hem of the t-shirt, trying to stretch it further down over her legs. The more she pulls at the front, the higher it rides at the back. I let her walk in front of me as we ascend the stairs, purely to enjoy the view as her ass bounces on each step.

She rushes into my room so as not to bump into my mom, and I dig around in my closet until I find a clean pair of sweats for her. She slips them on, and I laugh. She looks like a clown; the material drowns her. She needs to roll the waistband over three times to get them to stay up and it’s weirdly sexy. I pull out a dark blue hoody and zip it half way, pushing the sleeves to my elbows, Blair watches me like I’m performing heart surgery or some shit, not getting dressed. I grab her hand and pull her silently back downstairs to go face my mom.

This should be interesting.

Mom returns with a hot drink and sits facing us in the chair opposite the sofa. Blair is fidgeting by my side, wringing her hands together and looking like she would rather be any place than here right now.

“Maybe I should go and let you two talk,” Blair announces, and Mom smiles and nods.

“No. I want to hear what the pair of you have to say,” I say, before Blair has a chance to get up. Mom’s face falls and Blair’s pales.

“Go ahead Mom, you flew back to talk, so talk.” I sound like a jackass, even to myself, but I’ve given up caring right now. I sit forward, hands clasped in front of me, my elbows resting on my knees. She looks so tired and sad. I almost feel sorry for her. Only almost.

“Sweetheart, I—”

“Cut the pleasantries, Mom. I remember our conversation. That’s not what’s even bothering me anymore. Sure, it hurts like a bitch to realize that the person you’ve been calling Mom your whole life actually isn’t your mother at all. But you know what? It’s not even having to go through that twice that has me pissed. It’s that you tried to hide it, and then had my goddamn girlfriend hide it from me too. Why, Mom? Why?”

She places her drink by her feet and looks pleadingly at me. “I didn’t want to stress you out. I thought I was protecting you.”

“FROM WHAT?”

“From yourself! Jesus, Ethan, do you think that I haven’t noticed what your dad has put you through? Do you think I don’t know that you hate me for letting him? I couldn’t bear telling you again. We’ve broken you enough, damn it!” She throws her hands up to her face while sobs wrack her frail body, and all I can do is sit stunned and watch. “I couldn’t put that kind of pressure on you two minutes after waking from a coma that left someone dead and your dad paralyzed.”

I’m conscious of Blair rubbing my arm and I look down, watching her hand run over my skin before I realize I’m shaking.

“You should have told me.”

“I know. But sweetheart, I swear the only reason I didn’t was out of love, nothing more. I didn’t dare put you through anything else, Ethan—a person can only take so much before they snap. Trust me, I know.”

I stand and both sets of eyes follow me as I walk toward the door.

“Don’t leave,” Blair sighs. It’s barely audible but I hear her fine. I have the strangest feeling that I could pick out her voice, even at a whisper, in a stadium full of people shouting.

“I’m just going to get a soda. I’ll be right back.” With that I leave and go collect a can from the fridge. I’m not in the least bit thirsty, but I didn’t want either of them to see me cry. My eyes are stinging as I try hold on to the tears. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Maybe Mom was right; maybe a person can only take so much. Maybe I’ve just hit my limit.